


Caldwell Stories

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't tell anyone about the heist, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caldwell Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ms. bang

 

 

The first time Linus Caldwell really realizes that his dad isn't quite a regular guy is when he comes home in the middle of the night wearing a bulletproof vest and a splint on his wrist. He tosses a black duffel bag into a corner (it rattles, like a pocketful of loose change), then looks up and sees Linus sitting on the stairs. "Hey, kid. What are you still doing up?"

"Hi, Dad." It's always been Dad, never Daddy, as far back as Linus can remember, and he has a cut over his left eye, too. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. You get on back to bed." His lips twitch. "Pancakes tomorrow?"

Linus smiles, half-turns to go. "Sure."

"Banana?"

"Blueberry."

"Got it."

"So what happened?"

"Don't worry about it, kid. Get to bed."

* * *

When Linus is twelve, he lifts his father's wallet without him noticing. The look on his face when he realizes it's missing is worth just about anything Linus could name, and when Linus gives it back, he gets a light smack to his cheek and a smile. "Nice pull, kid. Don't do it again."

Linus rubs his stinging cheek and grins. It was worth it.

* * *

Linus tries college, and leaves after half a semester. He reads on his own, instead, and when he gets jobs no one knows he's Bobby Caldwell's boy. That was the first rule. "You've got to do these things on your own, kid. You're good enough for it."

Bobby gives him good references, whenever a buddy of his calls, but that's all. Linus learns to survive on his own. Bobby's taught him everything else.

* * *

When Linus turns twenty-seven, he leaves Boston and heads for Chicago. Six months later, he's just settled into a comfortable routine and a Cary Grant impersonator in a snappy suit steals the wallet he'd just stolen himself, then buys him a drink and a plane ticket to Vegas.

He's heard his dad talk about Danny Ocean. A real professional. A gentleman. A completely crazy-ass bastard. Linus figures, ticket to Vegas, the guy probably wants to knock over a casino, so crazy-ass bastard seems to fit the bill.

But it sounds like fun. Maybe a chance to show Bobby what he can really do, all on his own. So he takes the ticket, and goes.

* * *

The idea of stealing from Benedict is starting to give him a creeping feeling in his gut, which is probably exactly what Benedict wants, but he tells Rusty anyway. Danny's got flash and big ideas, but this guy Rusty makes it happen. He's not an arrogant prick like most of the fixers Linus has worked with, and he doesn't jerk Linus around, and Linus is starting to like him just for that.

He sucks a drop of cocktail sauce off his thumb, and flashes Linus a laid-back grin. "You scared?"

"You suicidal?"

Rusty chuckles. "Only in the morning."

Linus smiles in spite of himself.

* * *

After a week of following the guy, Linus decides to add 'creepy stalker' to Danny's list of descriptions. When he tells Rusty about it, the man just sighs. "That's what I thought."

Yeah. Definitely something weird going on here. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll figure something out, kid. Get back out there."

* * *

Linus is walking towards the warehouse when he sees Rusty with Danny, late one night. They're standing shadowed in the doorway, not talking, just looking at each other, until Rusty sighs, one word, but Linus is too far away to hear. Danny slides a hand around the back of his neck, fingers stroking the cropped hair. They stay like that for a while, close and still, until Linus looks away, feeling guilty and not knowing quite why.

He stands in the shadows himself, not moving, until they break apart and go back inside.

* * *

Standing next to Benedict is not an experience Linus would like to repeat. Hell, being in the same hotel as the guy makes him sweat. He figures it wouldn't bother Sheldon Willis, though, so he talks, oblivious to the unnerving self-control radiating off the man, and tries for a bad joke. It falls flat. Perfect.

"You know Hal Lindy over there? Work with him at all?"

This is it. Rusty told him, that Benedict would try to test him, that he does it to everyone he meets. So Linus studied, and now he knows the name and history of every NGC guy that's ever had any kind of contact with Benedict; he knows their birthdays, their kid's names, their _dog's_ names, for Christ's sake. He's got Sheldon Willis _down_ , so he just sighs a little matter-of-fact sigh, and says, "Not since he died last year." Officious little schmuck. Linus can't wait to get out of this guy.

Benedict gives him a tiny nod. Rusty laughs, low over his earbug. "Nice save, kid. Very nice." Linus flushes, just a little, and very carefully doesn't smile.

* * *

Dismantling the SWAT van, Rusty wanders over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "You did good tonight, Linus."

Linus breathes out, still twitchy. "Thanks, man. You, too."

Rusty gives him a tired smile and slides his hand down, over his shoulder, down his arm, walks away. Linus shivers slightly.

He needs a drink.

* * *

Linus doesn't start running until he's out of sight of the others, then goes flat-out until he sees Rusty, strolling down the Strip with his hands in his pockets. Linus catches up with him at the corner of Tropicana and Vegas South and tries to look nonchalant, and not like his lungs are about to burst. This is going to ruin the college-kid look he's got going back home. Then Rusty turns around and just looks at him, and he remembers that with fourteen mil burning a hole in his pocket, he won't ever have to grift again. No more picking pockets on the el; it's the good life from here on out, and he can be as out of shape as he wants.

The thought makes him feel a little empty, just for a second.

Rusty blinks at him slowly ( _come on_ ) and heads across the street. Linus follows. They walk in silence past the gaudy Disney castle of the Excalibur, past the throngs of Midwestern tourists in socks and sandals and fanny packs, past a lone Elvis impersonator smoking a dog-end on a bench. Rusty turns abruptly and heads towards the entryway of the Luxor. Linus whistles through his teeth; of course Rusty wasn't so stupid as to have actually taken a room at the Bellagio himself. "Figures you'd like this place. It goes with your shirts."

Rusty keeps walking, past the desk. "Children under twelve stay free here, you know. I would have thought that would be a selling point for you."

Linus snickers. He needs to take this edge off, badly. "Hey, fuck you, too." Bourbon and a bourbon might do the trick. Maybe Rusty'll head to the bar and he won't even need to say anything.

Rusty stops, so smooth that Linus almost walks right past him, and he thinks immediately that he's gone too far. The look on his face is soft and kind of miserable and completely uncharacteristic, and Linus is wondering almost desperately how he's going to get his foot out of his mouth this time when Rusty smiles. "That sounds good, kid." He cocks his head to the side and looks at Linus, calculating, sizing him up. "Yeah, I'd like that fine."

Linus stares, then goes hot all over like he's just swallowed a slug of Southern Comfort. It's been a while since anyone's asked him that; he can feel himself blushing. Rusty grins at him, sharp. "You up for it?"

"Yeah," he hears himself saying. "Sure."

It's the longest, most uncomfortable elevator ride of his life. Rusty winks at him over the heads of some obliviously loud college kids; Linus' fingers are itching to lift a few wallets, just to calm himself down. He keeps his hands to himself until they get off at the seventeenth floor. Rusty's hands are steady, sliding the keycard into the slot. Linus has to jam his own hands in his pocket to keep them from shaking, and follows Rusty into the room. Big floor-to-ceiling window, looking out on lit-up pools and palm trees. Linus squints; looks like there might be a waterfall down there. "Want a drink, kid?"

He looks over his shoulder and realizes that they haven't even turned on the lights yet. Rusty's smile is a pale slash in the shadows, and he's holding up a little bottle of something that, if there's a god in heaven, is Maker's Mark. "Please." His smile sharpens oddly at that before he turns around again. Linus hears a soft clink of ice and doesn't even have time to wonder (again) what the hell he's doing here before Rusty is turning and walking toward him, pressing the glass into his hand and still going, pressing Linus back against the cool glass of the window, pressing their mouths together with a lazy swipe of tongue over his lips; one long thigh between his legs making him gasp, and then that warm, full-body contact is gone, because the bastard's just backed off and looking at him. Linus stands there a minute, leaning against the window, then says, "That's new." He's not quite sure what he's talking about, but he puts his drink down and crosses the two steps to Rusty before he can say anything, and kisses him, hard. That godawful shirt is slippery under his hands, just like he thought it would be.

After that, it's easier, skin to skin. Linus comes first with Rusty's hand on him, too fast, but at least he's not shaking anymore. Rusty's tattoo winds halfway up his arm; Linus follows it down, mouthing the tender skin on the inside of his wrist as he strokes him roughly. Rusty shudders all over and comes, wrapping his arms around Linus, one hand cupping the back of his head. It's almost tender, and Linus wonders briefly what it would be like to stay like this. He doesn't ask about Danny.

It's been a long time, but not that long.

* * *

It's barely dawn when Linus wakes up feeling like shit, but Rusty's already gone. There's a scrap of paper with a cell number written on it, lying on the bedside table. Linus decides to leave it there, and heads for the shower. There's a world of aches and pulled muscles making themselves known to him. He hadn't even noticed them last night.

He's almost out the door before he turns around, grabbing the paper off the table and stuffing it in his pocket.

It's not as if he's actually going to call.

* * *

When he finally gets home, there's a message waiting from the old man. He hasn't head about the job yet, just checking in. Linus hasn't talked to him for a long while now.

He can't tell him about the heist, of course. If it was anything else, Linus wouldn't think twice about talking it over with Bobby, but with Benedict involved, Linus doesn't even want his name mentioned in the same sentence as this job.

He kicks around his apartment for a few hours, wandering from room to room, unable to sit down for too long. He's nervous and bored, a bad combination, and it's too quiet inside. Too empty.

When he picks up the phone to call Bobby, he rehearses what he's going to talk about, talking to himself distractedly under his breath. "Shit." He dials the number and hangs up immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He's jittery as hell. "Fuck it," he mutters, and dials Rusty's number instead.

He picks up on the third ring. "Hey, kid. How was your flight?"

Linus breathes out. Settles down. "I drove."

He leans against a window and listens to Rusty talk. It's all coming back, and he thinks, _Weird_ , and he smiles in spite of himself.

-end-

 


End file.
